


under my skin

by wtfrenchtoast



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, F/M, Jealousy, Masturbation, borderline obsession, does it count if he doesn't see, just hears, well kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-05 15:28:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1823371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtfrenchtoast/pseuds/wtfrenchtoast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SHIELD'S hotel choices leave quite a bit to be desired, especially where privacy is concerned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	under my skin

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this veered WAY off track where I originally planned it to go, and ended up darker and creepier than I had intended. But, really - Ward is a deep dark effed-up guy. You don't spend half your life working for a psycho without some side effects.

Ward smirks bitterly into his glass as he ticks off another notch in his mental tally. She'd been the fourth, and as she vacates the barstool to his left in a huff, he chuckles inwardly. 

They all thought they were innocuous and cute, settling themselves right next to him, faces pretentiously aloof. The bartender would swing by to take their orders but they'd wave them off, certain if they made obvious their availability, the handsome stranger to their right would jump at the opportunity. So they'd waited. And waited. Played with their hair, adjusted their cleavage, and one of them even faked a stumble so she could rest her hand on his arm for balance. 

And if he'd been any other lonely soul just looking for some company, he probably would have allowed himself to be reeled in. So many cities, so many forgettable faces. 

But tonight, at least for him, is different. 

As he nurses his whiskey, he sneaks a surreptitious glance to his right, where the majority of his attention has been focused all night. Long, gently curling brown hair waves back and forth softly as she laughs at something the floppy-haired, tatted-up frontman says. 

Ward hates guys in bands. 

But he can understand why Skye would be drawn to them. Sensitive, attractive (Ward really didn't see it, but he's not the expert here), adventurous. It's all in the perception. Give any schmuck a guitar and he's guaranteed to get laid. 

He shoves that thought away with a grimace. Skye wasn't some bimbo who'd fall into bed with the first guy to pay her a second glance. If she was giving this one the time of day, there must be something sparking her interest besides his ink and strumming a few strings on a piece of wood. 

Which, ironically, irritates Ward even more. 

He studies the tribal design that covers the younger man's entire right arm. The one that's resting possessively around Skye, telling the other predators to stay away, this one's his. 

Something ugly unfurls inside Ward as he lets himself fantasize about snapping the kid's wrist like a dry twig. He downs the rest of the amber liquid in his lowball and sets it on the bar with just a little too much force. 

He shakes his head and pushes his way through the crowd. It's suddenly too hot, too many people, and he's done torturing himself for one night. 

*  
Ward flops down on the fluffy hotel comforter, head heavy and a sinking feeling in his chest. 

He didn't have to go home alone. All he would have had to do is taken some pretty young thing up on her offer in exchange for an overpriced, watered-down Sex on the Beach. It's not like he'd never done it before. Life with SHIELD was inherently nomadic, but the benefit was anonymity - no awkward run-ins with one-night stands. 

Well, there was that one time. But to be fair, they hadn't left much time for discussing exchange-student programs. 

But he couldn't bring himself to do it, not when Skye was only inches away. He couldn't pretend that whomever he'd chosen as her stand-in would hold a candle to the real thing. He'd catch the tinkle of her laughter or a whiff of her shampoo and he'd be right back where he started. 

Alone, with nothing but his hand to keep him company. 

His eyes begin to droop as his whiskey buzz wears off, leaving him groggy and lethargic. He doesn't even bother to shuck off his shoes or jeans, just rolls over and allows himself to be dragged under. 

*

Thump. 

Jarred awake, eyes bleary and bloodshot, Ward launches himself to his feet, searching wildly for his pistol and the knife sheathed in his boot. His heart races. Combat-ready in under a second. 

Thump thump. 

The hotel room is empty, only Ward and his sleep-mussed reflection in the dresser mirror. Bright red numbers from the clock radio tell him it's just past one in the morning. 

Narrowed eyes dart around the room. Silently he creeps to the window, where he peers behind the heavy drapes. It's pitch-black outside, save for the sickly yellow street lamps. 

A loose, high-pitched giggle pierces the quiet. 

Ward frowns. Fitz and Jemma are sharing the one to his right, and Skye is to his left-

Another giggle, this time louder. He glances at the wall behind his headboard. 

His next thought is a resounding You gotta be fucking kidding me. 

He's drawn, though, like a moth to a flame. Somehow his legs carry him back to the bed and he stalks forward on all fours across the ugly bedspread. Maybe he's wrong. Maybe Skye changed rooms or she's watching TV or - 

"Let me see the rest of it. It covers your whole chest?" 

"Nah, just the shoulder and a little more. You like it?" There's a second voice now, deep and raspy. Ward's heart races. 

"I might. Take off your shirt and let me decide." 

He's frozen. He can't believe he's actively listening; a twist in his gut tugs at his conscience. 

"Your turn, gorgeous," and Ward grips the wooden headboard so hard he swears he hears it creak. "Damn. You sure you ain't a model?" Ward rolls his eyes. 

He hears a light smack. "You and the flattery," Skye scolds gently. 

"Is it working?" 

"You tell me." The abrupt, jarring thump that follows has Ward nearly jumping out of his skin as he recoils from the wall, startled. 

Soberly he lets himself tumble onto his back, sprawled on the bed in defeat. Faint giggles still float through the air as he shuts his eyes tightly. His mind, traitorous as it is, wanders into a vision of tan, creamy skin, slender thighs straddling his hips, and bedroom eyes piercing into his. Fuck. He slams a fist into the mattress. 

His cock is straining painfully against the stiff fabric of his jeans and as he shifts, the friction sends a thick tendril of lust down his spine. Motherfucker. Ward, you dipshit, should have just picked up one of the bar sluts and let her at least suck you off. Could have turned out the lights and closed your eyes and pretended - it'd have been a hell of a lot better than this.

He grits his teeth as he pops the button on his jeans, drags the zipper south. Reaches into his boxers and draws himself out. He strokes his throbbing cock once, root to tip, and has to bite his lip to keep from moaning. If he can hear them, they can definitely hear him, and this night's already gone to hell as it is. 

"Holy shit, that’s good. Fuck.” His eyes fly open and he tenses, listening for confirmation of what his mind is dreading and his dick is dying to hear. "That's so good."

She laughs, but it's muffled, and Ward digs his teeth into the inside of his cheek so hard he tastes blood. All the while his hand unconsciously slips up and down his length, where just through the thin sheets of drywall her lips are doing the same. To him. 

It occurs to him, not for the first time tonight, that if this doesn't prove he's fucked up then nothing will. 

The next few minutes are filled with groans of pleasure that drift through the walls as Ward's imagination fills in the blanks - those pretty pink lips wrapped around his cock, sliding down until he disappears down her throat, her tongue teasing the underside where she knows he likes...

And then he hears strangled laughter. "You keep that up, this show's gonna be over before it starts, baby girl." Another groan. "That's no fair." 

He can hear the smile in her voice. "You ready to return the favor?" 

Ward's eyes roll back in his head. If he hadn't ground enough salt in wound tonight...

"Hell yeah. Take off them panties. Nice and slow. Turn around."

There's no sense in keeping up this pathetic pretense that he wasn't jerking himself to the sounds of Skye blowing another guy. Ward can't help it, he abandons himself to his senses and the dark corners of his mind's eye. Jealousy burns like acid under his skin, screaming mine mine mine, and the driving urge to storm over, rip the fucker's throat out, and claim her himself surges forth. 

There's a low whistle. "That's fucking beautiful. Get up here." The jostling and creaking of the hotel bed tells him that she complies. "That's it. Put your legs-yeah, right there." A hollow thump against the wall rings out, and the agent realizes it's her palms braced against it. Because when she moans it's so loud it's practically right in his ear. 

"Oh my God that's-oh fuck you, you fucking tease," she pants and the sound goes straight to his cock, which he's now milking furiously. “When I said to put your money where your mouth is, I meant-oh! That’s more like it.”

Skye quickly devolves into a continuous litany of moans and whimpers and sharp cries as he takes her apart with his tongue. Or, at least, what Ward imagines is his tongue. Maybe he's got a finger or two sunk deep inside her slick heat, pumping slowly as she fucks herself on his face. He silently groans at the thought. 

It builds, ramping up the pitch of her cries and the soft jostling of the bed, until a sudden, choked-off "Fuck!" rings out and Grant Ward knows, he just knows she's coming on that bastard's tongue. It eats at him so badly for a moment he loses the breath out of his lungs. That this nameless dime-a-dozen punk knows what she looks like when she tips over the edge and he hates him for it, because tomorrow he probably won't even remember her name. He'll get dressed and sneak out and go back to his life and Ward can do nothing but stand by and watch. 

Inside his head rages a maelstrom of lust and horror and desire and disgust. 

The murmuring that follows is too low for Ward to make out, but the crackling of a foil packet comes through loud and clear. The nails of his left hand dig so tightly into his palm that he feels the warm trickle of blood. 

And like ripping the scab off a freshly-healed wound, once the pair next door begin to fuck Ward’s anguish wells up anew. He knows the moment the other man sinks himself deep within Skye because she slams a hand against the wall and curses. The thrusts start slow, and he knows by the proximity of her voice that she’s on all fours, taking him from behind. It’s a view only his mind’s eye can afford him - running his hands down the gentle curve of her hips, tangling his fingers in her hair. So exquisite and so filthy. He’s so, so beyond the point of shame now and jerks himself like he’s watching his favorite porno. 

He focuses on her. With every stroke inside her she moans desperately and as the pace picks up she’s rushing headlong to another orgasm, hard and fast. He imagines her fingers between the lips of her pussy, teasing her clit and when she finally reaches her peak Ward’s right there alongside her, explosions blossoming behind his eyelids as he spurts into his fist. 

The kid must have finished somewhere in those last few moments, because as Skye’s keening subsides everything drops off into silence. His consciousness swims back to the surface and he grimaces at the slick mess covering his hand and most of his belly. 

In the tiny hotel bathroom he cleans himself up. He doesn’t turn on the light and avoids the mirror like it would burn his eyes out of his head. 

*

“You look like hell. Too much of a good thing last night?”

The glare Ward gives her in reply could melt steel. “Fine,” Skye holds her hands up in surrender, a cheeky smile on her face. “Sue me for the assumption that big bad SHIELD agents don’t get hangovers. No super-serum for that yet?”

“It’s with R&D,” Fitz cheerfully cuts in. 

“Right. Well, sign this guy up for the clinical trial.” With a wink she’s gone, a bounce in her step as per usual. Ward follows her with his eyes until she’s lost in the rest of the continental breakfast crowd. 

His tongue runs over the ragged flesh on the inside of his cheek, savoring the raw sting.

She’s right. “Heavily intoxicated” is exactly what he was.


End file.
